


Death of Alastor

by SharkGirlNirea



Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [2]
Category: Criminal Case (Video Game), Criminal Case: Mysteries of the Past
Genre: Archie and Malcolm are both pieces of work, Canonical Child Abuse, Corrupt rich people, F/M, Mysteries of the Past Case #12: Behind the Mask, Mysteries of the Past District 2: Elysium Fields, Parent-Child Relationship, Rochester family, Spoilers for Mysteries of the Past District 9: Ivory Hill, Victorian era, Yandere character, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirlNirea/pseuds/SharkGirlNirea
Summary: Archie Rochester planned his Mr. Alastor parties perfectly. He didn't kill anyone. He didn't pay anyone to do so. Besides, his father, with his frequent trips to brothels and tendency to pay assassins to kill his political rivals, has done far worse than Archie.That's not how Malcolm sees it.
Relationships: (but it's one-sided), Archie Rochester/Giulietta Capecchi
Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975516
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Death of Alastor

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. These notes are just for the people who need a refresher on Archie's Mr. Alastor plan/ for the people that I force to read my stories that haven't played Mysteries of the Past. 
> 
> Basically, Archie's plan was to invite a bunch of people to his parties. These party goers included Group A, the people Archie wanted dead, and Group B, people who hated Group A. At all of Archie's parties, members of Group B murdered members of Group A, but they decided to commit murder independently of Archie-- he didn't bribe members of Group B, he didn't threaten them, etc. Group B saw Group A at the party and thought, "Wow, they're here, and so am I. What a fantastic opportunity to commit murder."

As soon as the Flying Squad’s chief entered Archie’s field of vision, Archie knew exactly what the chief had been forced to realize.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d walk free?” Archie said, making no attempt to conceal his sneer. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

The chief sighed almost imperceptibly, his lips tightly pinched together, before responding. “Indeed. Your hands are clean. Your father is here to take you home.”

The chief unlocked the holding cell’s door and Archie stood, crossing his arms across his chest. “Did you really think you could imprison a Rochester? You should be grateful I have more important matters to attend to than pressing charges for false imprisonment or miscarriage of justice!”

The chief did not respond, but his posture as he walked was unnaturally stiff.

“Were you surprised it was me, Chief?” Archie said. “Surprised, poor, sickly, awkward Archie Rochester could be the charming, elusive Mr. Alastor? The man society fell in love with? The man you wanted to please?”

The chief glanced at Archie over his shoulder. “You were not the first person I would have expected to be Mr. Alastor.”

“But I was! I fooled you, I fooled everyone, even my own family didn’t know who I was! I’ve been Mr. Alastor ever since I was fifteen, what did you accomplish when you were fifteen?”

“I was at the top of my class in secondary school,” the chief said, his tone carefully controlled.

Archie raised an eyebrow. “You were IN secondary school? I graduated from secondary school when I was fifteen, and I was--”

“Here is your son, Senator Rochester,” said the chief as he and Archie entered the chief’s office. “I apologize for forcing you to wait.”

“No, I apologize for my son’s misbehavior,” Malcolm Rochester said. “His mother and I have decided to send him away to Europe. He won't be a bother to anyone there.”

“What?” said Archie, whipping his head to the side and facing his father. “You can’t s--”

Malcolm gripped Archie’s shoulder and pushed him towards the office’s exit. “We’ve intruded on your hospitality for too long, Chief Wright. Excuse us. Forget about Archie; he won’t be your problem any longer.”

As soon as they exited Wright's field of vision, Malcolm's false politeness dropped. He glared at Archie, his lip curled, as they entered Malcolm’s automobile.

“You can’t send me away to Europe!” Archie said. “I still have to--”

“I can do whatever I’d like!” Malcolm shouted. “I should-- we will discuss this at home. Shut your mouth.”

Archie was silent as he forced himself to control his breathing, not wanting to become agitated enough to warrant an asthma attack. How dare his father try to send him to Europe? Archie still had matters to attend to; he had to find Giulietta…. Properly reveal himself to her…. What did Justin Lawson know about Giulietta? Everyone who had died at Alastor’s parties in the past six weeks had all wronged Giulietta, including her sister. That moronic district attorney hadn’t heard Giulietta complain that her sister’s facial deformities were an embarrassment to Giulietta while she was attempting to find her place in high society.

All six of the “victims” had only themselves to blame. What practical, rational person would knowingly mistreat the daughter of a mobster?

Several minutes later, the automobile stopped in front of Malcolm’s home. Without waiting for the driver to disembark from his seat, Malcolm threw open the door, seized Archie’s upper arm, and pulled him out of the automobile and into his home.

Archie quickened his pace to avoid being dragged up the stairs. Malcolm’s grip on Archie was forceful enough that Malcolm’s fingers were pressing on the bones in Archie’s arm. When they reached Archie’s room, Malcolm released him and threw him against the bed.

“Archibald Hiram Rochester,” Malcolm spat-- Archie scowled at the use of full, ridiculous first name-- “do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“Nothing! I haven’t done anything wrong!” Archie said. “Everyone who died at my parties was killed by someone else! I didn’t kill anyone, or bribe anyone, or--”

“I didn’t mean legally,” Malcolm snarled. “I meant are you aware what you could have potentially done to my reputation? To our family’s reputation?”

“I can’t have been that bad,” Archie said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone knows your political rivals mysteriously die or end up in the insane asylum. Your political career is still thriving.”

Malcolm ignored what Archie considered to have been a well-delivered, warranted retort and continued. “The scandal that will undoubtedly arise from your 'Mr. Alastor' stint could very well drag me down, too! You need to leave Concordia for at least a few months until people grow bored with talking about you--”

“A few months?” Archie said. “Giulietta will have forgotten about me by then!”

“Giulietta?” Malcolm said. “Vittorio Capecchi’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Archie said, his lips parting as he smiled at the thought of her. Because of her father’s business, Giulietta was no stranger to violence. She would understand, appreciate the months of planning Archie put into arranging the parties for her and tactfully ridding her life of the people who’d wronged her.

Archie understood and empathized with Giulietta. He was poor, friendless Archie Rochester, an unremarkable boy from a powerful, successful family. Giulietta was the daughter of an infamous mobster. Even if Archie was a Rochester, he was often ignored by the fellow elite. Why talk about Archie Rochester when you could talk about Malcolm Rochester, the successful senator, or Horatio Rochetser, the influential businessman, or Clarissa Rochester, the owner of the Bank of Concordia, or Leopold Rochester, the altruistic supporter of world-changing inventors? And the elite were too afraid of the Capecchis to interact with Guilietta; to give her a place to belong. Nobody except Archie had ever wanted or tried to give Guilietta the love she deserved. If Archie could explain how the parties were all for her, she’d fall into his arms.

“The parties were all for her benefit,” Archie continued. “Everyone who was killed at the parties had mistreated her; she’ll thank me if she knew I planned those parties!”

Malcolm stared at Archie. “Did you plan these parties to woo Giulietta Capecchi?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?” 

“You idiot!” Malcolm shouted, grabbing Archie’s shoulders and shaking him. “You risked our reputation because you wanted to impress Giulietta Capecchi, of all girls?” Malcolm shoved Archie backwards onto his bed. “You can’t publicize your romantic feelings for Vittorio Capecchi’s daughter! Can you imagine how that would make our family look?! Having a public union with the mob?!”

Archie sat up and adjusted his glasses, ignoring his throbbing neck. “If people knew Giulietta-- she’s an outcast, but we-- I -- could make people love her! People could see her as more than a reflection of her father! Our name could bring her up! And either way, regarding what damages our family’s reputation, me publicizing my feelings for her would be far better received than if you publicized your relationship with the women in Madame Xiang’s brothel!”

Malcolm slapped Archie across the face. Archie staggered backwards and fell onto his bed, where he lay momentarily, his face stinging and burning. Why would that comment provoke Malcolm into hitting him? Everyone in their family knew Malcolm frequented brothels, including Archie’s mother. She didn’t care, because she had seized the opportunity to marry into the most powerful, rich family in Concordia. That was enough for her. She played the role of the banquet-throwing, doting Senator’s wife when needed, but she was largely content with staying in Crimson Banks, operating her distillery. She couldn’t care less what Malcolm did in his leisure time.

Archie’s nails dug into his palms. He’d only stated what everyone in the family knew. By that logic, Malcolm should be slapping everyone in the family who hinted at or about Malcolm’s _activities_.

“Sit up.”

Malcolm’s eyes darted to Archie’s face and he cursed at the evidence of him losing his temper.

Archie sat up, glowering at his father, but kept his mouth shut.

“I’ve been too lenient with you,” Malcolm muttered, pacing in front of Archie. “I should have made you go to college immediately after secondary school. Letting you run free these past four years was my mistake.” He stopped pacing and said, “You’ll be attending a university in Switzerland. Studying law."

Of course. Politician father, politician son.

Like everyone in his family, Archie knew of the Rochester’s plans to officially retake Concordia. Archie knew his future was set in stone. He’d obviously play some role in the Rochester Republic….

Archie didn’t know the exact number of public officials in his family’s pocket. Archie did know, however, that Great-Uncle Horatio was in charge of several major businesses, Clarissa was the owner of Concordia’s largest bank, his father had great influence over the mayor….

In spite of all that, as far as Archie knew, nobody in his family was planning on being the Rochester Republic’s judge.

Ah.

Perhaps studying law wouldn’t go to waste.

“How long would I be overseas?”

“As long as it takes for you to earn your degree. No less than six months.”

“Fine, then,” Archie said forcefully, somewhat avoiding eye contact with Malcolm. “If Lissa’s around, she can help me pack--”

“Wait,” Malcolm said. "You know we aren’t finished.”

Archie briefly closed his eyes and exhaled. He knew what was going to happen. Malcolm wouldn’t forget. Archie silently watched Malcolm walk to Archie’s desk and retrieve the locked box.

“He who loves his son is diligent to discipline him,” Malcolm said, removing the belt from the box. It had been years since Malcolm had used the belt. Archie could hardly see specks of blood staining the item.

Archie gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his breathing steady. He was nineteen, in just two years he would be an adult; his father couldn’t discipline him like this--

“Archie,” said Malcolm. “Do you want me to undress you like a child, or can you do so yourself?”

“Fine,” Archie hissed, flushing as he threw his bow tie onto his bed. Somewhat more gently as to not break his inhaler, he removed his jacket and set it aside before tossing his shirt and undershirt on top of his bow tie. 

His eyes flinty, Malcolm unrolled the belt and repeated, “He who loves his son….”

Trying not to shiver in the now-cold room, Archie mumbled, “..... is diligent to discipline him.”

“Kneel next to your bed and turn around.”

Archie obeyed his father and clenched his bed’s frame. What right did Malcolm have, forcing Archie to nearly prostrate himself on the floor, forcing him to repeat that stupid mantra, forcing him to strip off half his clothes, forcing him to--

The belt buckle whipped down and struck Archie’s shoulder.

Archie barely prevented himself from gasping in pain. He’d forgotten how much that _stung_.

Malcolm hit him again, again, again, and again. When Archie was younger and Uncle Monty was still alive, he’d taught Archie how to cry on cue. It was a useful skill, used to convince people of genuineness, or to garner their sympathy. When Malcolm used the belt on younger Archie, he would usually stop once Archie had made himself cry.

Archie still knew how to cry on cue. He’d done so when those detectives from the Flying Squad had questioned Archie about his “friend” Jack Goodwin’s murder, but Archie couldn’t focus--

Malcolm hit him again, this time with enough force to knock him sideways onto the floor. Before he could stop himself, Archie gasped in pain.

Malcolm paused momentarily, raising his eyebrows as he stared down at Archie. “What was that?”

Archie pushed up his glasses and turned onto his side, facing his father. “Nothing,” he muttered, his jaw aching from clenching his teeth. If only he was taller, stronger, then he could show Malcolm--

“Are you certain?” Malcolm said. “You know you deserve this.”

He raised the belt and Archie involuntarily flinched. Malcolm scowled and whipped the belt across Archie’s face, knocking his glasses askew. Archie once more fell backwards, and opted to press his face against the ground, his glasses digging painfully into his skin as Malcolm continued.

To Archie’s horror, his eyes began to water. Why was he crying? He couldn’t, he was brilliant, far more so than Malcolm. He had more momentous, important things to do than lie on the floor of his own bedroom and endure such a degrading punishment that should only be reserved for servants--

“Look at me,” Malcolm said, lowering the belt. He knelt on the floor and grabbed Archie’s jaw, forcing him to look up at Malcolm.

“Tears,” Malcolm said in disgust. “Typical modern whimpering….. I could take twice as much when I was your age…. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Malcolm released Archie, who sat up, staring at the floor, his back and face stinging and burning. The dull pain in his chest that had formed when Malcolm fetched the belt worsened. Archie’s breathing grew labored, as if someone was sitting on his chest and forcing him to breathe through a straw. He scrambled for his inhaler in his pile of clothes, ignoring the weakness in his legs and pain on his arms and back.

As Malcolm put the belt back into the case, Archie noticed fresh specks of red dotting the item.

“Get dressed,” Malcolm said. “I will send for Lissa to pack your things once she returns with my dry cleaning. Your boat to Switzerland departs at noon later today.”

Malcolm glanced at Archie, still shivering and breathing through his inhaler. “Perhaps you’ll learn to be mature and responsible there.”


End file.
